Day 2
Saturday 12th May - Loch Glashan to Strachur
Fortunately, the morning was lovely at 5 a.m., when I was awakened by Roger's mythical creature, the GOCKOO... I darted around taking pictures in the early light, then returned to enjoy a laze and a leisurely breakfast. By 7 o'clock, this plan was thoroughly thwarted by the emergence of that scourge of Scotland: hordes of midges. How dare they, in early May!... okay, we'd had summer in April, but that had departed long since. So by 8, I was on the trail, making my escape. This manmade forest was not particularly pretty, but it was full of birdsong, and a lovely velvety young roe deer leapt swiftly across my path.
With a confessed urge to emerge from the trees, I viewed the long open walkway stretching out for a few hundred metres across the dam, and clambered over a fence to set off. Hmmm...near the other end, it became obvious that this was discontinuous: fortunately there was nobody around to see my embarrassment as I jogged all the way back, and down again into the forest.
The original intent was to continue northwards, emerging eventually on to and over Beinn Ghlas (which Ian Shiel assured me has superb views), and thence down to Furnace, whence our minister friend had arranged (plan permitted by Roger) for a friend with a fishing boat to ferry me across Loch Fyne to Newton so that I could tackle an inviting-looking small ridge on the south-east side. But the said minister had told me on Thursday that, due to a last-minute hitch, the task had had to be passed to another friend whose boat was in Minard, and to whom I had spoken by phone before leaving. He had said it would need to be after 1.30 as he and his wife were helping at a fund-raising lunch in the Village Hall; having only his telephone number, and a warning that my mobile might not work in Minard, I thought I had better go straight there first and find out where he lived. As I walked the last couple of kilometres of road from the forest exit towards the village, I exchanged greetings several times with a postman whose van travelled almost exactly at my speed, as he dotted in and out of side-turnings, and eventually I asked him if he happened to know where Jack Dunagan lived: of course he did, and gave me precise directions.
Reaching the village at 11.30, I subsided on to a viewpoint bench outside the local small shop-cum-post office, unloaded my pack, and bought a cool drink to consume in the sun while deciding whether to fill the time by skimming packless up Beinn Ghlas, viewing the gardens at Crarae, or perhaps even walking the road to Furnace to visit the minister's wife Jean, in his absence on business. Before any decision, an athletic-looking silver-haired man bounded up and assumed I was Jean Turner...the countryside bush telegraph is alive and well on Loch Fyneside. Without much difficulty he convinced me of my social duty to contribute to the Hall Preservation Fund by eating soup and sandwiches there. He told me a couple of his friends were joining us on his boat, for the trip.
Early afternoon found us rowing out to his vessel: a smart four-berth yacht! This was a totally unexpected treat, and being handed the tiller and photographed, to "prove to the Challenge people that you worked your passage" only enhanced it. The calm weather demanded an engine at first, as we hugged the coast to see Jean waving a farewell flag (saltire, naturally) on the shore at Furnace, but we did raise sail on the main body of the loch. Then, having been dropped by dory on the pontoon at Newton, I made haste along the road to Strachur, whose teashop yielded not only sustenance but a gentleman who was a mine of local geographical information - and which also, rather worryingly, carried a plentiful availability of Avon Skin-so-soft for the midges.
And on the subject of local gentlemen, Jack and his friends were highly intrigued by the Challenge, and he pronounced himself willing to provide a similar service for other Challengers in future. We could do with more starters down there, couldn't we?
So up to the hills north of Strachur, in the evening sun: rather a lot of cows, stirks, calves and sheep at first, but as dusk approached they disappeared down to the glens, presumably to be fed, and the hillside belonged to me as the rain began!
